


Hard Lessons

by CranApplePye



Series: Beneath My Skin [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abused Stiles, Beating, Dubious Consent, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, I'm a horrible person, LOL that's an actual tag, M/M, NSFW Art, Nudity, Oral Sex, Poor Stiles, Power Imbalance, Punishment, Rough Sex, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Dad, Triggers, Whipping, because Stiles really needed it poor baby, but NOT by his Dad - by the other douche in the story, seriously lots of potential triggers, yes finally a little comfort at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CranApplePye/pseuds/CranApplePye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles swallowed, long fingers twisting somewhat anxiously in his lap as he eyed the riding crop in the older man's hand.  "You know, it wasn't exactly my fault," he protested despite himself, unable to keep his mouth from working even when he knew he should.  "I can't... I can't stop it when that happens.  I mean, you were the one shoving your freaking dick down my throat until I couldn't breathe. It's not like I <em>wanted</em> to wig out.  It's not fair to punish someone for something they couldn't help."</p><p>Deceptively gentle fingers were under his chin again, tilting his head up and making him look at the naked older man. "I'm not punishing you, Stiles." He tapped the crop in his left hand lightly on the boy's shoulder.  "I want to help you."</p><p>Stiles snorted and shot him an incredulous look that clearly called bullshit on that statement. This man only helped <em>himself</em>... usually to everything Stiles didn't want to give him. "Uh-huh, sure."</p><p>-----<br/>Short ficlet and accompanying artwork.  <strong>The artwork is extremely NSFW. </strong><br/>Story contains a lot of potential triggers, please heed the tags.<br/>This is part of a small series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> This picture and scene and the others in this series are the product of a story idea I can't shake, but have no time to write properly. You can read my explanation of the idea in [the first part of this series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/980278). If anyone would like to take the idea as a prompt and run with it, feel free! :)

 

 

 

Stiles swallowed, long fingers twisting somewhat anxiously in his lap as he eyed the riding crop in the older man's hand.  "You know, it wasn't exactly my fault," he protested despite himself, unable to keep his mouth from working even when he knew he should.  "I can't... I can't stop it when that happens.  I mean, you were the one shoving your freaking dick down my throat until I couldn't breathe. It's not like I _wanted_ to wig out.  It's not fair to punish someone for something they couldn't help."

Deceptively gentle fingers were under his chin again, tilting his head up and making him look at the naked older man. "I'm not punishing you, Stiles." He tapped the crop in his left hand lightly on the boy's shoulder.  "I want to help you."

Stiles snorted and shot him an incredulous look that clearly called bullshit on that statement. Finn only helped _himself..._ usually to everything Stiles didn't want to give him. "Uh-huh, sure."

Finn's smile was amused. At least he wasn't angry, Stiles supposed. The druid was _terrifying_ when he was angry.

"No, really, I do," the older man assured, still smiling in a most un-reassuring manner.  "You didn't lose it because of me, we both know that. You've used that pretty mouth of yours too often for that to set you off on its own.  Your problem, Stiles, is a complete lack of focus." He caressed the boy's neck and cheek lightly with the side of the crop, sending conflicted shivers through the teen's body. "You're your own worst enemy, Stiles," he murmured. "Your mind runs away with you and you _let_ it."

Fisting one hand in Stiles' short hair, he dropped into a crouch in front of the boy, sliding the other hand down between Stiles' legs, capturing his uninterested manhood and stroking until it _was_ interested. Stiles squirmed, his cheeks and his body heating as Finn coaxed him to unwanted arousal.  It felt so good, and that was so wrong.

"You're a smart boy, and you're good at this.  You could be a prodigy, Stiles, if you could ever just learn to _focus_ and stop being so easily distracted."

Stiles licked his swollen lower lip, trying _not_ to do something embarrassing like push forward into Finn's stroking grip.  "Uh, yeah, did you totally miss the part where I have ADHD?  Ask any of my teachers, focusing isn't really my thing on a good day and you don't really ... ung ... help," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.

Finn shook his  head. "Physical limitations are in your _mind._ They limit you if you _let_ them. We know that better than most people, don't we, Stiles?  Reality is what you _make_ it, and I don't mean in some stupid Zen kind of way _._  What people call _magic_ works when your will is strong enough to deny the limitations others accept and reach for the greatness that they can only imagine.  If you can't overcome _this_ , if you can't control _yourself_ , how can you hope to bend nature to your will?"

"By asking nicely?" Stiles retorted sarcastically, eyes darting around the room because he didn't want to admit how deeply the older man's words penetrated him.  "I can always try bribery too, I'm pretty good at that."

Finn rose back to his feet and Stiles felt  a sharp, burning sting lance across the side of his neck. "Ow!" he cried out, hand clapping over the abused skin and rubbing hard to try to shake off the mad tingling left behind by the crop.  "Give a guy some warning, huh? That fucking hurts!" 

Stiles flinched instinctively when he saw the older man's hand move in his periphery vision, but Finn just cupped his cheek this time.  Stroking the boy's cheek with his thumb, his mentor fixed him with a look that was part dark hunger and part exasperation.  "It's supposed to," Finn said simply, hitting him again, this time on his upper arm. 

Stiles whimpered sharply in his throat and bit his lower lip, blinking back unbidden tears at the sharpness of the sting. "Right, cause this is you _not_ punishing me," he grit out caustically. 

"This is me helping you learn focus," Finn retorted, darkly amused again.  Stiles was glad he apparently found this whole thing so fucking hilarious, because he sure didn't.

Finn tugged Stiles' head back towards his crotch again. He wasn't really hard anymore, and Stiles knew he was expected to fix that.  Leaning forward, he resignedly started mouthing and stroking his mentor's body back to arousal. 

"Good boy," Finn approved, making Stiles' gut churn.  "If you'd been focused on me and what you were doing, like you should have been, you wouldn't have worked yourself up into a panic attack. But you let your mind wander, didn't you?  So, we're going to start working on keeping your mind in the here and now.  If I think your attention is starting to slip, I'll give you a little reminder to re-focus you on the present..." the crop struck down hard on the top of Stiles' right shoulder in demonstration of exactly what he meant.  The sharpness and unexpectedness of it made the teen cry out and clamp down a little too hard around the cock partway in his mouth.

Finn winced and grabbed his hair harshly, tilting Stiles' head back until his jaw was forced into a more open position.  _"Don't_ do that again," he warned with an edge of real anger. 

Stiles tried to respond, but his words were being made unintelligible by the thing in his mouth.  Finally he struggled his head backwards, shaking off Finn's grip and pulling his mouth free so he could make himself understood.  "Then don't hit me with a freaking _whip_ when I've got your freaking dick in my mouth, dude!  I can think of about a dozen things wrong with _that_ brilliant idea!"

Finn's eyes were dark and hard, his expression saying he was just about done putting up with the talking part of Stiles' mouth tonight.  His hand tightened painfully in the teen's hair.  "I'm going to do whatever I want to do," he murmured, voice dangerous and silky.  "And if your teeth touch me again, even a _little_ , I will bend you over my desk and fuck your pretty red ass instead. I will hold you down and do you _dry_ and _hard_ until you're _screaming_ ," he promised.  "You won't like that, Stiles, _trust me._ "

Stiles swallowed convulsively, fear making him feel ill.  He was pretty sure Finn was right.  The older man had done him rough and inadequately prepped before, but never _completely_ without lube.  He could only imagine how badly that would hurt, and he knew the bastard would do it, too. He never made idle threats.  Stiles didn't think he could make it through that.  Finn had been steadily stretching his limits, but there were still things that could break him, no matter how deep his resolve went.  If Finn did that to him, he _would_ run and this would all have been for nothing.

His mind was still spinning in a jumbled mass of panic when his asshole of a mentor pushed into his mouth again.  Stiles saw the crop move out of the corner of periphery vision and had just enough time to desperately suck his lips over his teeth before it landed on the top of his shoulder again with a flare of biting pain.  Finn hit him a couple more times as if testing him or _trying_ to get him to screw up, but Stiles wasn't going to fall into that hole.  He cried out and sobbed around the older man's hardening dick, but he kept his jaw open and his teeth covered, refusing to give him an excuse.  

"Good..." the older man praised with a dark smile, wiping the tears from under Stiles' eyes with his thumb.  "See?  You can do it.  All you need, Stiles, is the right _motivation._ "

Stiles glared up at him, and if looks could kill Finn would be a smoldering pile of ash. 

Unperturbed, Fin just curled his hand in the hair at the back of Stiles' head, gripping on, but letting the teen set the pace.  He let the crop in his other hand rest lightly on Stiles' naked, stinging shoulder - a reminder to keep his pupil focused.  It kind of worked.  Stiles kept his wary gaze pinned to his mentor's whip hand as he bobbed his head and hollowed his cheeks, wishing it didn't take so damn long to get the older man off.  He had to stay alert for any movement, because if Finn caught him with a blow unawares he risked accidentally clamping down again and he was _not_ going to let the other man win this particular game. 

"Mmm," Finn gave an appreciative little moan, rolling his hips into the hot, wet heat of his student's trembling mouth.  The boy was so damn pretty like this, covered in Finn's marks, his dark eyes promising death while his submissive body provided pleasure.  He knew better than to underestimate the hatred he was inspiring in his protégé.  Stiles' slender body and childish motor mouth didn't fool him.  This was a dangerous young man who did what it took to get what he wanted, and one day, what he wanted was almost surely going to be Finn's head.   But that was part of why this was so much fun.  He liked the danger. He liked fucking the boy into submission, but knowing that he was never _totally_ submitting.  Stiles was young, impressionable.  He could break him if he tried, but he didn't _want_ to break him, just... bend him, shape him, and yes, definitely fuck him.  This volatile arrangement of theirs wouldn't last forever, but he was going to enjoy every bit of it while he could.

 "Yes, that's good.  Go ahead and touch yourself, Stiles.  You can enjoy this too," he purred.  He felt the boy's mouth stutter a little, his body tensing in resistance, hands gripping on tighter to the older man's thighs.  "Not a suggestion," he added, stroking the crop suggestively across the already darkening lines he'd left on Stiles' pale, freckled shoulder.  "I want you to get off, before you get me off."

It was kind of endearing, really, that the boy's pale cheeks were still capable of flushing like that, his dark eyelashes fluttering in a jitter of discomfort as he slowly slid one hand from Finn's thigh and let it fall down into his own lap. 

Stiles swallowed uncomfortably around his teacher's thick cock as his fingers tentatively slid down to curl around his own.  He was a tiny bit aroused already, because, well, teenage hormones and nakedness and dick-sucking.  It wasn't his fault he reacted, no matter how much he didn't like what he was doing. It wasn't.  Just like it wasn't his fault that he didn't entirely hate it when Finn made him enjoy this stuff.  Did he _like_ having to jack off for someone else's amusement because this asswipe told him to?  No.  Did it make it easier for him to get through the whole cock sucking thing and give it the kind of effort Finn wanted from him?  Yes. 

Stiles' breath started to get a little heavier and his bobbing head a little more enthusiastic as he stroked himself to life, twisting and squeezing until he was erect and weeping.  It was kind of magic how as soon as he started getting aroused, things that were just disgusting or painful before started becoming kind of kinky and interesting instead.   _"Go biology, helping human kind get past the 'ew, that goes where?!' factor for generations,"_ he thought darkly.

It wasn't rocket science, it was easier to do a thing when it felt good.  He didn't necessarily like the kinds of things he was starting to enjoy.  He knew he should feel more ashamed about it, should feel more disgusted with himself or something, and he _did..._ but his fairly strong survival instincts also brought out the pragmatist in him.  He wasn't a victim, here.  He refused to be one.  This was his choice.  This was quid-pro-quo and someday he'd give this bastard what he really had coming, but for now, if something could make this all a little _less_ terrible for him, then why the hell not? 

A relatively light, but meaningful tap with the crop jerked Stiles' wandering attention quickly back to Finn.  Heat was pooling in his gut and his hurting body felt both tense and loose at the same time, but he couldn't afford distraction and he struggled to stay attentive to his mentor's movements and mood.  Every so often the older man tested him, flicking him with the crop and keeping him on his toes.  Once Stiles was significantly aroused enough, even that was capable of being kind of hot in a really, really twisted sort of way.  It was probably one of the better blow jobs he'd given, and by the time Stiles was leaning against Finn's thighs and gasping through his orgasm, the older man was just about there as well. 

The older man dropped the crop and cupped Stiles' head between his hands, driving hard into his slack, swollen mouth a few more times as the boy leaned bonelessly against him.  Then he too found his release, pushing deep and forcing his partner to take it. 

Loose and uncoordinated, shivering with post-orgasm tremors, Stiles sloppily attempted to swallow what he could, dazedly licking the older man clean afterwards.  He really didn't want to think about how well Finn had trained him that the action was this instinctual.  Thinking was highly overrated and he just wasn't going to do it anymore tonight. 

Wiping his sore mouth, Stiles rose stiffly to his feet and headed for the shower without a word.  Finn didn't stop him.  By the time Stiles emerged, scrubbed clean and re-dressed in the soft, loose-fitting set of spare clothes he'd learned to always bring with him, Finn was back in his robe and already working at his desk again.

Not bothering to say goodbye, Stiles grabbed his backpack - which was going nowhere _near_ his back for a while, thank-you-very-much - and headed for the door. Finn's voice made him pause with his hand on the knob. 

"Same time next week, and Stiles? I expect you to do better next time."

Stiles snorted, not sure if he was talking about the lessons or the sex.  Was there really a distinction anymore?  It didn't matter. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered, sliding outside and shutting the door behind him with a little too much force.

The air outside was cold and it felt good on his hot, aching body.  The cold recent snap was a boon for him. It made sense of the long-sleeved turtleneck he was wearing to hide his bruises, even if that wasn't his normal style.  He didn't remember much about the drive home.  His brain seemed to have sort of turned off until he was sitting in the driveway in his jeep, parked next to his Dad's cruiser.  It was pretty late.  He tried to just sneak up to his room as soon as he got in, but apparently he wasn't going to get that luxury tonight either.

"Stiles?  Stiles come back down here please," his father's voice arrested his progress at the top of the stairs.

With a sigh, Stiles tossed his backpack into his room and slumped back down the stairs, glad at least that Finn hadn't fucked anything besides his mouth this time, it would have been hard to hide the resulting limp. 

"Yeah?" he asked, loitering in the kitchen doorway and raising his eyebrows questioningly at his father. 

The sheriff nodded towards a pizza box on the counter.  "I saved you some dinner.  It's veggie, so don't blow a gasket," he added with an amused twitch of his lips.  He was acting casual, but his eyes were worried.

 Stiles actually mustered up a smile for that.  "Thanks, Dad.  I, uh, I'm not really hungry.  I think I'm coming down with something," he added, coughing into his fist on cue because he knew he had to do _something_ to explain his hoarse voice and chapped, reddened mouth. 

The Sheriff crossed over and pressed the back of his hand against Stiles' forehead, checking his temperature.  It took everything Stiles had not to flinch when the hand moved towards him.  He could hide many things from his father, but _that,_ dad would notice.  That was one of those cop things he was trained to watch for.  A classic sign of abuse.  It helped that he knew his dad would never hurt him.  Not like Finn did.

"You are a little warm," his father agreed, gaze caring and concerned as it gently searched his son's face.  "Think it's just a cold, or should we get you a checkup?"

His father's eyes were too tender, his look too concerned and _normal_.  It nearly broke something in Stiles' chest that he hadn't even realized was there.  Blinking rapidly to fight the unexpected burn in his eyes, Stiles faked another coughing fit into his hand, giving him a reason to pull back and turn away.  Giving his eyes a reason to be watering.  _I'm so sorry, Dad. I thought I could stop with all the lies now, but it will never stop, will it?_

"Nah, just a cold I think.  I'll be fine," he said lightly, starting to back away.  "I should probably get to bed early..."

"It's not exactly _early_ anymore," the Sheriff pointed out.  "Where have you been?" The question still held that overall edge of concern that his dad had going on, but it wasn't accusatory.  Despite being in law enforcement, his father never really had been one to grill him on his movements and whereabouts.

"Um, out," Stiles said lamely, not sure how it was that after all these years he still sucked so badly at lying to his father.  "Pack stuff," he added with a shrug, turning to flee for his room as casually as possible. 

"Stiles, wait..." The Sheriff caught his arm, stopping him and Stiles couldn't stop the wince that time.  His father pounced on it just as fast as he'd feared, the concern in his eyes going from 0 to 60 in milliseconds as he shoved Stiles' sleeve up his arm and got a look at the dark circle of bruising that ringed his wrist. 

"Stiles, what the hell?  What happened?" he demanded.

Stiles felt panic ice through him.  He yanked his arm away and shoved his sleeve back down. He wanted to run, but he knew he wasn't getting away from this conversation now, and if he didn't talk his way out of this _fast_ he risked his father finding out about his other, less easily explainable injuries.  "It's cool, okay?  It's cool, I'm fine. I know it looks bad but it's not, just embarrassing," he babbled quickly.  "I was trying out this, um, spell thing, trying to get out of this pair of handcuffs and I kind of messed it up.  I'm fine!" he promised.  "Just stupid," he added in a mutter under his breath.

His father seemed somewhere between relieved and suspicious. He wanted to believe Stiles, he always wanted to believe him, but given recent events there was a part of him that found it hard to trust.  That hurt, even as Stiles knew it was completely justified. At least this was actually the truth... just not all of it.

"You were working on that Emissary thing again tonight, weren't you?" his father asked quietly.  Stiles had told his dad about that, although definitely not about Finn. 

Stiles nodded. It was weird talking with his father about working spells and shit, it had made him uncomfortable even before Finn was in the picture.  "Yeah. There's... there's so much I just don't know yet, so much I can't do."  As usual, Stiles found himself blurting out a lot more than he intended. 

"You don't have to learn it all in a week, Stiles, you're pushing too hard.  That's probably why you're getting sick," his father pointed out firmly. 

"But I _do!"_ Stiles exploded with more frustration than the simple conversation warranted.  "I _do_ , Dad!  Because nobody else can and if I don't get my shit together, more people are going to _die._ I can't afford anymore screw-ups, not like last time..." his voice trailed off and he looked away quickly, not even able to hide the glistening in his eyes this time.  He wiped his face quickly on his sleeve, wishing he knew how to shut up.

Unexpectedly, Stiles found himself enfolded in a warm, tight embrace.  Stiles went tense for a moment, but didn't stay that way. His back was sore, but the inviting comfort of hiding his face against his father's shoulder and just enjoying the physical sensation of someone _caring_ about him was too great to resist. He let himself relax into his dad's hug in a way he hadn't done since he was a lot younger. 

"Stiles, that _wasn't_ your fault," his father said softly, his voice now a little hoarse.  "You have to stop beating yourself up about it. You did the best you could.  You _saved_ Scott's life.  That was pretty damn impressive you know."

"After I nearly _killed_ him," Stiles croaked and oh, okay, just when he thought the night couldn't get any worse, now he was crying. In his dad's arms. Like a freaking baby. Fantastic. 

"He doesn't blame you for that..."

Stiles snorted against his father's shoulder, cutting him off. "Of course he doesn't!  He's _Scott_. Scott forgives _everybody._ I mean, hello, Isaac and Allison? Seriously."

"...no one, blames you," the Sheriff finished as if he hadn't been interrupted.  "You're just a kid, Stiles.  You're _my_ kid and you take way too much on yourself."  The sheriff stroked his back gently and Stiles didn't care if that kind of hurt.  He needed this.  He needed this gentle, innocent touch so much it _ached._ He hadn't even realized this was a thing that could be needed until it was suddenly just _there_.The realization didn't help with the crying thing. 

"I can do this, Dad," he croaked. "I _know_ I can, I just... I have to be willing to commit to it, you know?  I have to focus." 

The Sheriff pulled back enough to stroke his son's tousled hair with both hands and fix him with a look that was equal parts heartbreak and pride.  "I know you can too," he whispered, absolute certainty and faith in his eyes. "I just wish you didn't have to.  You don't, you know," he added even more softly.  "You _don't,_ Stiles.  I get that you can't stay out of it as long as we're here, but... God, Stiles, we can leave.  If I was any kind of father... I should take you away from here."

"What?!" Stiles asked incredulously, goggling at his father in shock. "We can't leave!  I'm not gonna just run away and you can't seriously expect me to think for a minute that you would either.  You would _so_ not be okay with running out on everybody and everything.  I thought you wanted to protect the town?"

"I do, but I want to protect you more," the older man admitted. It was simple, and honest, and hit Stiles kind of like a punch in the gut, but not a bad one... if that made any sense at all.  "Now that I know what's going on... Stiles, do you have _any_ idea how hard it is for me to know the danger you're in, all the time?  I just... it's not right.  I should do something, I should protect you better and I don't know _how_." 

Stiles realized he recognized the hopeless, frustrated pain in his father's eyes.  They had so much more in common than he had ever supposed.  He actually laughed, giving his dad a tight, reassuring squeeze and wiping his leaking eyes on his sleeve.  "We're so fucked, Dad.  Seriously.  Both of us.  All of us.  We all want to turn back the clock and go back to normal, but normal never actually existed.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry you have to deal with this crap too."

"I'm not," the Sheriff countered, releasing Stiles when the boy finally pulled away.  "It's better to know.  When you know, you can fight."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed with a weary smile.  "Yeah.  Dad... I'm really tired. Are we done with our bonding moment, or do I need to cry some more?  'Cause it's cathartic and all, but not really doing a lot for my ego."

His father smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder - his _left_ one, thankfully.  "Okay, kiddo, okay.  But you're not escaping so easy. You've been pushing way too hard, you need to relax and you need to _eat._ Come on..."

Not taking no for an answer, Stiles' father dragged him into the living room, deposited him on the couch, turned on the TV and returned with a plate full of re-heated pizza a few moments later.  They found some insipidly retarded action movie with great special effects and after taking a few bites to appease his father, Stiles realized that he was, in fact, _starving_ and proceeded to wolf down the rest of the pizza and go back for seconds. 

Injuries or no, curled up on the couch with his dad, eating pizza and making smart remarks about plot holes big enough to drive trucks through was its own kind of happy for him. His father was right, he had needed this.  You needed to remember what you were fighting for sometimes.  Watching his father laugh and roll his eyes and try to sneak pieces of pizza off his plate... it was like warmth seeping back into cold bones.  This was what he was fighting for.  This was part of what he would give anything to protect... and it was _worth_ it.    

**Author's Note:**

> Unless I suddenly get inspired and miraculously acquire more time, this is probably the end of the series. Sorry it doesn't really resolve everything. Like I said, I don't have time to actually write the whole idea I had, but I at least tried to give Stiles a little respite at the end and close on a slightly nicer note. 
> 
> How would you play things out? Feel free to adopt the idea and give it a go, if you want to. :)


End file.
